Buckskin
by M'Celeste
Summary: Some heroes don't need spandex.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story can be blamed on my cousin, a skilled physician, accomplished artist and erudite scholar with a droll sense of humor. When asked many years ago if she enjoyed (American style) football, she pondered for a moment then gave the perfect answer; 'I like it when they walk away.'

While our dashing Regency heroes did not have spandex at their disposal, they did have a most worthy alternative – buckskin! The time consuming, labor intensive and, quite frankly, disgusting process of transforming raw deer hide into that strong, soft, supple material will not be detailed here, but leave it to say that the end result was, more often than not, well worth the endeavor. Several ladies in particular developed over time a heightened appreciation, not only for the material itself, but also for several wearers of it. Their stories will be told here.

Buckskin

Chapter 1 - Elizabeth

Elizabeth Bennett was out taking her exercise one day as she was wont to do, though her step was far more sprightly than usual. It was a glorious October day. The colors were in full change, and the palette, riotous. Bright sunlight filtering through the tree limbs overhead formed lacy patterns of shade and light on the pathway below, and the brisk air against her cheek had the same crisp snap as the leaves under her feet. It truly was a pleasant day.

Her thoughts were pleasant as well! Of course there was tomorrow's Assembly Ball to consider. This event had understandably become the focus of the entire neighborhood - and who was Elizabeth to put herself above her neighbors? Therefore, a portion of her active mind did deem it worthwhile to ponder such weighty matters as what to wear and how to style one's hair. And of course, there were the new acquaintances to be made upon introduction to their recently installed neighbors from Netherfield Park. These new neighbors consisted of a certain Mr. Charles Bingley and his sisters, and the very recent addition of a large party of their friends from Town, all of whom were expected to make their appearance at the Assembly. These were all weighty matters indeed, however, most of Elizabeth's thoughts lay in a completely different direction.

Mr. Henry S. Bennet, Esquire, Elizabeth's esteemed father, had recently made a significant addition to his library with the purchase of twenty two new volumes. Knowing how much his favorite daughter shared his love of reading, he had allowed her immediate access to them after his own perusal. These tomes spanned a wide range of topics, from the national politics of the day to the unfortunate events unfolding on the Continent, along with the usual subjects of philosophy, mathematics, the sciences, art and poetry. Elizabeth was currently absorbed by William Blake's 'Milton: A Poem', though to be honest, what had initially attracted her to that particular volume was not so much the writing within as its frontispiece, an engraving showing the back end of a particularly magnificent specimen of mankind, as naturally attired as Adam in the garden before the fall. Many a father might have deemed it appropriate to remove this particular page before relinquishing said book to a minor daughter. However Mr. Bennet, a lover of the arts and connoisseur of the bookmaking craft, did not.

Elizabeth often found occasion to give sincere thanks to her Heavenly Father for having bestowed upon her such a lenient earthly one. This was one of those occasions.

Such were the turns of Elizabeth's lively mind as she exited the seclusion of the wooded path, onto a narrow clearing which bordered the main road to Meryton. And lo! there, standing tall and proud, with his back facing her own happy eyes, was Blake's engraving come to life! Well… almost, for at least this version was clothed. Well... somewhat. Truth be told, Elizabeth had rarely seen any proper gentleman (for that is what she assumed him to be) in such a state of public undress as this! His shirt hung loosely about his shoulders – surely his collar must be open and his cravat untied! His hat was missing and his top coat divested, leaving the seat of his breeches bare to the world – though what fine breeches they were!

Seeking to spare the gentleman the embarrassment of discovery, Elizabeth quietly removed herself back to the pathway, finding shelter behind a stout oak which bordered the clearing, and from whence she could still hear and see the proceedings as they unfolded before her. Some might call it spying, Elizabeth called it the pursuit of knowledge. Said unknown gentleman appeared to be having a heartfelt discourse with another tall and lithesome creature, his horse.

"There, there Apollo," he soothed with a pleasant baritone, "Let's have a look, shall we?"

All while keeping his back to Elizabeth, the gentleman squatted to the ground, raised up the animal's left foreleg and attended to its shoe, which of course presented Elizabeth with yet another vantage from which to consider those breeches. They truly were extraordinary! Elizabeth suddenly felt unaccountably warm and the air much less crisp. Having only one other real life point of reference to use by way of comparison, Elizabeth quickly reached two empirical conclusions; this gentleman had not her father's figure, and those were not her father's breeches.

They were of buckskin, superfine quality, the color of butter and honey. Seemingly molded to the man's shapely thighs and upper calves, they ended with a flourish of buttons and ties at the beginning of a pair of well-made top boots. Though somewhat baggy in the seat, as such practical garments tended to be, they still managed to accentuate that gentleman's assets in a very pleasing way! Elizabeth's appraising eye was distracted, however, as the gentleman chose that moment to share his findings with his horse.

"Tsk! Seems we've been brought down by a stone, Apollo. Two nails have come loose! No more riding today, I'm afraid."

With that he suddenly rose and patted his horse's flank with affection, then quickly proceeded to button his shirt and tie his cravat. A dark green coat, which had all this time been neatly placed across the man's saddle, was now taken up and shrugged on, effectively putting an end to Elizabeth's scientific scrutiny. Next, a tall beaver, which had been resting next to his coat, was doffed and adjusted. Then, leading his horse by its reins, both man and horse proceeded down the road in the general direction of Netherfield.

From a previous brief sighting of Mr. Bingley Elizabeth knew with great certainty that this was not him. Where Bingley had been blond and of middling height, this man was dark and quite tall. She wondered if this, perhaps, was one of Netherfield's visiting denizens.

Never once did Elizabeth get to see his face, though she had high hopes of remedying that omission on the morrow. So it was with an even lighter step that she proceeded on her way.

o~O~o

Another note: My ambitious plan is to wrap this up in 10 chapters, three for each of the three ladies, then an epilogue to wrap things up. I tend to write rather slowly, and there might be extra long gaps between the three stories, but please bear with me. Unfortunately the sequel to FR is once again on the back burner while I focus on this.

And yes, that frontispiece does exist. Google it! :-)


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: If you're still with me, thanks for your patience while waiting for this update! Dissatisfaction with the story structure, followed by a long dry spell and real life interruptions conspired against me. I'm almost done with the following chapter, so the next wait won't be nearly as long. In fact I hope to have it up within the week. (Also, a huge shout out to my sister Botsey, for suggesting I spend a little more time in the edit room. It was sound advice!)

Thank you for all the faves and follows, I was blown away by the amount of interest in this story. Special thanks to Deanna27, Regency1914, HarnGin, Mariantoinette1, Mary Norton, Meryton Miss, Another Lizzie, mangosmum, debu, NotACursedChild, Sapphire Dawn and several guests for sharing their thoughts by way of review. (and yes Meryton Miss, having taken a much closer look at web pics of Blake's 'Milton: A Poem', I'm sure Lizzy did get quite the anatomy lesson!)

After reading a couple of the guest reviews I feel the need to clarify that Darcy, far from being naked, was 'undressed', a term used during that period to describe a gentle man or woman dressed casually, or one lacking the finishing touches of dress expected while in polite society. In this case Darcy had loosened his cravat and removed his coat (scandalous!), which would allow him to comfortably drop to the ground and attend to his suddenly lame horse. Of course this also allowed Elizabeth to attend to the seat of those breeches which would, under normal circumstances, have remained hidden under Darcy's coat. Couple of other fun facts I learned while researching Regency menswear - some of you probably already know this, but it was news to me – 'breeches' is actually pronounced like 'britches' and waistcoat like 'wess-kut'.

Now back to our story, where we fast forward to join Elizabeth in the wee hours of the morning immediately following the Meryton Assembly…

Chapter 2 - Elizabeth

"Ridiculous man!"

Elizabeth's arms remained tightly coiled as she clomped the path between her bed and her window for the thirty seventh time, so vigorous was her stride that a corresponding film of ceiling plaster lightly dusted the floor of the room below. She was deep in thought, her restless body working in tandem with an equally restless mind. Recalling Newton's second law of motion, Elizabeth was at this very moment furiously working to calculate the mass of a certain gentleman, the acceleration needed to send him into a neighboring county, and whether or not her slippered foot could generate the force needed to deliver the blow. She fervently hoped that it could.

"Not handsome enough… Ha!"

On this, her thirty eighth pacing, Elizabeth paused just long enough to practice her slippered kick. If she got within one yard of those infernal breeches ever again, she'd teach that man how to fly.

And the evening had started out so well! It had been a mere six hours ago when Elizabeth Bennet, filled with keen and optimistic anticipation, awaited the opportunity to discover her mystery gentleman - and she had not been disappointed! The moment the Netherfield party made their appearance Elizabeth put her observational skills to work, using the process of elimination to determine which of them he might be. The party had consisted of five souls complete, three of whom were gentlemen. Discounting the ladies entirely she focused on those three. The first gentleman to step forward was blond, highly animated and seemed exceedingly eager to please. Though undeniably good looking, he lacked the prerequisite stature and bearing of the gentleman from the road. The fact that he greatly resembled, in both size and deportment, the blue coated gentleman who had come to call upon her father a few short days ago, made her conclude that this must indeed be Mr. Bingley. That conclusion was confirmed when the gentleman stepped forward to represent his party by exchanging greetings and introductions with Sir William Lucas. Curiosity satisfied on that score, she shifted her attention to the next gentleman. A quick appraisal determined him to be a fleshy, lumpish sort of… lump. He was promptly ruled out as well. That left… Good lord bless this day.

Elizabeth Bennet had found her man.

Tall, and stately in demeanor, there was no mistaking that physique. He had the good grace to be handsome as well! Elizabeth's certainty was reinforced when she overheard him speaking in low tones to one of the ladies of his party. Although unable to distinguish his words, there was no mistaking that honeyed baritone. Her favorable impression of the gentleman, discovered to be one Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire Possessed of Ten Thousand a Year (or FDoDPoTTaY for short) still managed to hold firm, even after the opinion of most of her neighbors had emphatically turned against him. (The recollection of well filled buckskin breeches had, after all, greatly stacked the deck in his favor.) Elizabeth's continued approbation might even have managed to outlive the evening - had not that gentleman committed the aforementioned grievous error of declaring, in dulcet tones no less, that Elizabeth Bennet was Not Handsome Enough.

And to think that only yesterday he'd employed that same silky baritone to soothe and comfort his horse. Such a sad waste of multitudinous assets.

Foolish, foolish man.

O~O~O

After such an unfortunate start, Elizabeth would, over the course of the following year, be availed of numerous opportunities in which to consider - and reconsider - Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. There were even moments of introspection, during which Elizabeth would attempt to account for her undiminished fixation with the man. Truth be told his offence had been relatively minor, something she would normally have laughed out of her system ages ago. Why expend so much ire, not to mention the energetic fire needed to let it simmer and stew, on a man who was at best a passing acquaintance? In her more reasonable, objective moments Elizabeth had to own that what she felt was far from the indifference she claimed. And if not indifference, what in fact was she feeling?

Such confusing thoughts would be further compounded whenever Elizabeth crossed paths with those buckskin breeches.

O~O~O

 **Confounding man!**

Of all the people to run into! Having been subjected these past three days to Caroline Bingley's thinly veiled insults and Mr. Darcy's increasingly taciturn silences, Elizabeth thought to make her escape from Netherfield whenever she could be spared from her ailing sister's side, often finding some relief in the form of a walk along the wood lined path which bordered Netherfield's lawn and main gardens. Though complete relief on this day was not to be had, as she found herself joined by the lesser of the two Netherfield Harpies, Mrs. Louisa Hurst. Conversation was sparse - thankfully her partner did not seem to think it much required – and as a result, Elizabeth was able to find a small measure of peace in her surroundings.

However, that peace was soon to be shattered. As they approached the juncture of their path with one which wound thru the shrubbery of Netherfield's formal garden, who should they suddenly encounter but the two people Elizabeth had most assiduously hoped to avoid!

"Miss Elizabeth! We had not thought to find you here!"

The unexpected appearance of Mr. Darcy and Caroline Bingley was quickly followed by the disengagement of Mrs. Hurst's arm from Elizabeth's, and its reattachment to Mr. Darcy's free one. Having no third arm to offer to Elizabeth, and finding the path far too narrow to accommodate them all, Mr. Darcy had graciously suggested moving their party from the path to the lane. Elizabeth, however, had had her fill of the lot of them, and with one pert, parting remark had made her escape. But even as she skipped merrily down the lane she could not help but wonder why Mr. Darcy had been so civil.

And why was he always wearing those breeches?

O~O~O

 **Odious, hateful man!**

She knew Mr. Darcy must be the reason for her favorite's absence, though for the life of her she could not fathom why. How could anyone with even half a heart be so cruel? As it so happened, conspiring to prevent George Wickham from attending the Netherfield ball was found to be the least of Mr. Darcy's offenses! By disregarding a behest and withholding a living, Mr. Darcy had callously dashed to pieces all the future hopes of a completely dependent young man. And he dared to call himself a gentleman! Perhaps all would be revealed in court someday, or at the very least, disclosed to the court of public opinion.

In the meantime Elizabeth had somehow been hoodwinked into dancing with the man! How on earth had she let that happen?

Her partner wore impeccably fitted black satin breeches which inexplicably brought buckskin ones to mind. Her imagination caught fire as she thought of Mr. Darcy's future punishment for his grievous sins. In her mind she pictured Darcy on his knees before Madame Guillotine, his head in the stocks and buckskin clad assets held high in the air. At this very moment, Elizabeth could well picture herself raising the blade and letting it fall!

O~O~O

 **Vile, insolent, insufferable man!**

Whereas the proposal delivered by Mr. Collins had the benefit of being at least mildly amusing, Elizabeth's most recent proposal, most assuredly, had not. Marked by arrogance and conceit, and calculated to be as intentionally insulting to her person, family and connections as possible, it had been delivered just yesterday by none other than the inscrutable and thankfully singular Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Compounding the insults against her own person was his admission to the role he had played in the separation of her beloved sister from the object of her affection.

Elizabeth's resultant declination had been on point.

And now, on this very next morning, Elizabeth found herself holding a letter. It had been placed in her hand just this moment by the man himself. She hardly noticed those omnipresent breeches as he bowed stiffly and turned to walk away, carrying himself with more obstinate, inflexible pride than she had ever seen before. (In later months she would come to learn that this armor was all that had kept the poor man standing upright!) A moment later he turned a gentle bend in the path and was gone.

Left in private with the letter, she swiftly tore into it, firm in the knowledge that it could in no way present an adequate defense of any of Mr. Darcy's actions, much less alter her opinion of him. However, the reading, and subsequent re-readings of the letter would gradually throw her orderly world upside down. In this new and revelatory place, she was humbled by the knowledge that her powers of perception had not been as powerful – or unerring - as she had always thought them to be. In this strange new world her sense of fairness would eventually demand acknowledgement of the truth of Mr. Darcy's words and the merit of his reproofs.

Mr. Darcy was, if nothing else, a just man after all.

O~O~O

And an exceedingly handsome one!

As she faced the large picture of Fitzwilliam Darcy adorning the walls of the long portrait gallery at Pemberley House, Elizabeth Bennet could not help but admire the man. The artist had done him justice. Mr. Darcy was exactly as she remembered, right down to the small smile which she had on occasion seen adorn his face. His posture and bearing reflected the same confident air she recalled him wearing as a second skin – although back then she called it pride. Now, however, her thoughts of him had taken on a much more pleasant turn. Even his attire brought back pleasant memories!

Those breeches were, apparently, his friends of some long standing.

Elizabeth continued to admire the man for some time, indeed, far longer than was absolutely necessary. However, knowing that this would likely be the last time she would ever lay eyes on the man, she found it difficult to turn away. Pemberley was the last place on earth she had any right to be, and at the moment she felt rather like the cat who had snuck into the creamery - though wrong of her to be here, while here she would lap.

After managing to tear herself away, Elizabeth re-joined her Aunt and Uncle who had continued on with the housekeeper. Soon thereafter, the party completed the tour of Pemberley's interior and were turned over to the gardener for a tour of the park. There was so much to discuss and admire, of both good taste and nature, in the harmonious integration of Pemberley with its magnificent grounds, and so the group turned once more to admire the building and its vantage. This would prove fortuitous, for it was at that precise moment, as Elizabeth the cat paused to lap up the view one last time, that the owner of this particularly fine creamery just so happened to turn a corner and appear, in the flesh, right before her very eyes!

Elizabeth's embarrassment was acute – as was his own – as they stammered and stuttered through their respective greetings. The acrimonious nature of their last meeting made this one exceedingly awkward for them both, but still they soldiered on. Mr. Darcy surprised Elizabeth by requesting the honor of introduction to her companions, and surprised her even further as he made plain his desire, not only to renew their own acquaintance, but to further the acquaintance with her lowly Cheapside connections.

Such a changed man!

He was wearing those old buckskin breeches again. Seeing him in this old familiar garb, all while appearing so disarmed and unguarded, made him more human to her than ever before. And it was at that precise moment that Elizabeth lost whatever was left of her heart.

O~O~O

A noble man.

Though Mr. Darcy's clandestine intervention would prove to be a double edged sword, providing both relief and consternation. There was the relief of knowing that her family's reputation and standing in the community, which teetered precariously following Lydia's rash elopement, would be maintained intact after all. But there was also the consternation born of knowing that Mr. Darcy would forever be prevented from renewing his addresses. For a certainly, how could any man of good sense choose, of his own volition, to connect himself to such a villain as George Wickham? No, this must mark the end of their acquaintance, and Elizabeth knew that never a future day would pass unmarked by her regret.

She would see Mr. Darcy no more.

However, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy had other plans. Determined man that he was, he had determined to see his Miss Elizabeth again, and again, and as often as was necessary. And he came wearing buckskin.

O~O~O

So it eventually came to pass that, after months of suspense, despite every impediment, heedless of every obstacle and against all odds, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy finally reached an understanding. And on the mid- morning of an exceptional December day, Elizabeth Bennet finally married the very best of men.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: No, this has not been abandoned! Sorry this latest installment is so late and so short! I'd been setting this installment aside for months, thinking that I would finally get around to picking the entire story apart and restructuring it, however, based on my current zippy track record, that probably won't happen anytime this century. Hopefully I'll crank out the next chapter before year's end! In the meantime (if anyone is still out there!), thank's for your continuted consideration.

Chapter 3

A particularly fine day in early April of the following year saw Pemberley House all aflutter with activity. Along with the usual bustle and comings and goings that normally occurred in such a large house, preparations were also afoot for the upcoming arrival of a small party of friends. While seemingly a matter of little note, this was fact a momentous occasion for the new Mrs. Darcy, as it would mark her first time serving as hostess in this grand place. Due in part to her close familiarity with one of the two couples, consisting as it did of her husband's best friend Charles Bingley and her own dear sister Jane, Elizabeth was not at all anxious. However, the second couple was unknown to her, and as explained by her husband, this meeting would be one of some delicacy. This guest, accompanied by his new bride, was an old school acquaintance with whom both Darcy and Bingley had been out of touch for nearly eight years, and there was the very real possibility that things might not go well. Despite her husband's cautious words, Elizabeth possessed an innate ability to rise to every occasion, and was therefore spurred on to meet this person, and challenge, with nothing less than her usual pluck, happy enthusiasm and acute anticipation.

So it was with a spring in her step that she went off to find her husband this day, as she wished to question him regarding the food preferences of his long lost Eton friend. As she neared her husband's suite of rooms she happened to pass his valet who was just on the way out from that place. In his arms he carried an immense stack of neatly folded, vaguely familiar looking apparel. After nodding and smiling to the man in greeting she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, the uppermost garment in the pile having happened to draw her undivided attention.

"Foster?"

Foster backed up carefully until he stood directly across from his inquiring mistress, craning his neck around the pile of garments in order to better place the lady in his line of sight. "At your service, ma'am."

"Where, exactly, are you taking those?"

"These clothes, ma'am?"

Elizabeth pursed her lips ever so slightly as she tamped down a needlessly pointed bon mot. "Yes Foster, those clothes."

"Well you see, ma'am, this past week I've been working with the master to cull out some of his older garments, and today I am carrying out his instructions to deliver them to Warwick and Mr. Garrison. This is the last batch, ma'am."

"To what purpose? What do the butler and steward intend to do with these garments?"

"I believe it is the master's intention for them to oversee their distribution amongst both the staff and any tenants who might be in need. Such a generous man the master is! Always looking out for the well-being and comfort of others."

"Yes indeed!" Elizabeth concurred, "Mr. Darcy is, without a doubt, the very best of men. However," she demurred, as she reached up to pluck the uppermost garment from the pile, "I'm certain there's been a mistake, as I know Mr. Darcy would never want to part with these."

"But… but ma'am…!"

Always one to carry out his master's instructions to the letter, Foster's first inclination was to sputter in protest. Luckily, however, prudence soon intervened, and any lingering perturbation on his part quickly melted away under the unrelenting brightness of Mrs. Darcy's sunniest smile.

"Of course you are absolutely correct, ma'am. No doubt there has been some mistake. On my part, certainly."

"Thank you Foster. If you happen to see Mr. Darcy, be sure to let him know I've been looking for him. And Foster, one more thing if you please…"

"Yes ma'am?"

"We never had this conversation."

"… Conversation, ma'am?"

With one final, cloud parting smile, Mrs. Darcy hugged her contraband close to her chest. Her original purpose completely overthrown Elizabeth swiftly turned back towards her own rooms. Any discussion of the culinary likes and dislikes of her husband's Eton friend, a Mr. John Barrow, could certainly await another hour or two!

Watching as the lady fairly skipped to the neighboring door, Foster could not help but wonder how a ratty old pair of buckskin breeches could bring such joy to the Mistress of Pemberley. Finding no answer in the immediate vicinity, and indeed, for that matter, even doubting the existence of one, he slowly shook his head and carried on with his duties.

Upon reaching her sitting room and closing the door Elizabeth slowly unfolded her treasure, holding the garment first to her cheek then aloft before her happy eyes. A careful examination confirmed that yes, these were the very same buckskin breeches that had been worn by her beloved on nearly every significant occasion prior to and immediately following their reaching an understanding. Indeed, it had been several months since she last saw Fitzwilliam wearing them, as they had recently been displaced in his favor by a much newer pair. Elizabeth had not realized how much they were missed! The resultant demonstration of her happy reunion included the kissing, fondling and sniffing of said garment, and the holding of it against her body whilst cavorting about in front of a mirror. Indeed, so intent was she in the execution of her joyful jig that she failed to hear a knock at her door, followed by the entrance of the very person of her ruminations.

"Dearest, Foster says you've been looking for m... ...Elizabeth? Elizabeth!"

Well and truly caught, Elizabeth blushed to the tips of her hair. Carefully folding her ill-gotten gains, she tucked them away into the safety of a nearby work basket. After crossing the room to re-close the door, she took her husband's hand and guided the poor, dumbfounded soul to a settee, sat him down, took a seat beside him and proceeded to tell her tale. It was a testament to Elizabeth's powers of persuasion that when Darcy left his wife's suite one half hour later, he was wiping his eyes and red with laughter.

And the breeches stayed behind.

o~O~o


End file.
